


Saltines, ~1955

by kayeblaise



Series: SVT Immortals AU [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family, jeonghan shows up for 5 seconds, no real romance here but people being good to people, none of them are human, warnings for vague panic attack-ish moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9963563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeblaise/pseuds/kayeblaise
Summary: "Jun, you can't let it get like this."*old name "the house"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted on tumblr

“I’m going to rat you out if you don’t do something about this.”

“See what happens if you do.”

“You’re the most stubborn and dramatic person I’ve ever met in my life.”

“At least I’m not condemned to be a fairy for the rest of mine!”

The tension had been rising steadily but now as silence stretched on after Jun’s snide remark, it seemed to have reached a breaking point.

Woozi, though he was a head and a half shorter, kept his icy gaze even with Jun’s as he responded, “I resent when you say that. I’m a fae.”

“Fae is short for faerie.”

From the other room a voice called, “Will you two please resolve your issues with a little more courtesy to those among us who are trying to rest?”

As Jeonghan’s words floated past, Jun straightened his shoulders. With a bit of a huff, he turned to leave the kitchen but, as he did, his foot landed on a loose bottle on the floor.

He slipped dramatically. Though he recovered quickly the snickering from Woozi was enough to put him back on edge. His frown deepened when he spotted Hoshi sitting on the kitchen table with a smile that was only slightly apologetic.

Jun glowered at him and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door hard enough to rattle the dishware.

After a pause, Woozi remarked, “Thanks, Hoshi,” to the imp’s eager expression.

Hoshi beamed at the praise but asked, “He won’t stay mad, right? It was just a little fun.”

Woozi shrugged. “Whatever the case, I appreciate your timing.”

**…**

Wonwoo knocked on the door as he entered and was greeted by the familiar smell of pine and dried herbs.

Jun was seated at the small table in the center of the storeroom, hunched over his tightly folded hands. Wonwoo closed the door behind him and stepped forward. The small movements of Jun’s mouth confirmed he was praying. Wonwoo sighed heavily at the sight.

“You’re shaking.”

It took a moment for Jun to open his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Wonwoo pulled out the chair opposite of Jun and sat down. “How long has it been?” He’d known the moment he’d heard arguing in the kitchen the state he would find him in.

Jun did not answer. He leant back in the chair, crossing his arms calmly though it was clear now that sweat had gathered at his forehead. There was a fogged desire skirting beneath his unsteady control.

Almost rolling his eyes at the other’s stubbornness, Wonwoo reached for a pin from inside of his coat. “Here,” he offered, moving the pin toward his own finger without a thought.

Jun’s hand latched in a vice around his arm faster than he could sense him move. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Wonwoo read the other’s tight expression then sighed, pushing up his glasses. He tucked the pin back into his pocket. There was no arguing with Jun in this kind of mood. Jun’s freezing hand on his arm was further evidence of the state he was in.

“Jun, you can’t let it get like this.”

Jun’s response was a distracted hum. Wonwoo caught his gaze sliding down to his throat.

“Jun…”

Wonwoo became hyper aware of his pulse under the predatory gaze. He made to pull his arm back but the grip on his arm had tightened.

It was at that moment that Mingyu entered the store room. “Hey, Wonwoo, where do we keep…” He came to a stop.

“We’re alright, Gyu,” Wonwoo answered before Mingyu could say another word.

Jun did not seem aware that Mingyu had entered the room.

With Jun’s dark eyes fixed at his throat, Wonwoo slowly leant forward. He paused to be sure Jun wasn’t going to pounce on him. Then, just loud enough for the other to hear, he teased, “Should I remind you of what you said a moment ago?”

Jun pulled his hand back from Wonwoo’s arm like he’d been burned. “No.” The word snapped out of him involuntarily.

The distant fear that now dripped into Jun’s eyes scared Wonwoo more than the bloodlust had a moment ago.

“I wouldn’t.” Jun’s breath hitched slightly though he seemed to be trying to correct it. “You know I wouldn’t. Right?”

Wonwoo stayed silent, afraid of breaking the fragile tension now holding Jun together. He was shaking harder than before, his eyes flicking at shadows.

Wonwoo became aware again that Mingyu was standing in the room, shuffling between his feet. Waiting.

Afraid of reaching out to steady Jun in case he pushed him over the edge, he warned low under his breath, “Jun, please don’t—”

Before he could finish, something in Jun shattered and his head dropped. He began to gasp a combination of half-formed prayers and apologies into the space between them: “I’m sorry. _Hail Mary, full of grace._ I didn’t mean—”

“Damn it,” Wonwoo hissed under his breath, rising out of his chair. “Mingyu.” He snapped his fingers to get the other’s attention but Mingyu was already across the room and throwing open cabinets, knocking bottles and boxes over in his haste. Wonwoo came around the table to crouch in front of Jun.

Meanwhile Jun’s breath was gasping in his throat. He was almost begging, “I’m trying. You know I’ve been trying.”

“Of course,” he answered gently, though Jun was pleading with phantoms. Every other line he spoke was a prayer.

“ _Lead us not into temptation_ …”

“It’s the green one, Mingyu,” Wonwoo called with some frustration at the clanking of the other’s frantic search.

“ _…but deliver us from evil._ ”

“Right,” Mingyu said suddenly as he found the small bottle he’d been searching for and passed it along. “Here.”

Unstopping the vial, Wonwoo curled it into Jun’s shaking hand. “Put this under your nose.” He guided Jun’s hand, never once taking his eyes off of him. “Breathe in.”

“I’m sorry.” Jun seemed desperate to make him understand, but Wonwoo was sure Jun didn’t know where he was. His feverish eyes scrolled blindly. “ _Through my fault. Through my fault—_ ”

“You’re fine,” he said, moving the other’s damp bangs out of his eyes, trying to ignore the way Mingyu was standing by in uncertain confusion. “Everything’s fine. You haven’t hurt anyone. Don’t apologize.”

Either his words or the potion did its work. Jun suddenly pushed Wonwoo’s hand away. Wonwoo took the bottle back, placed it on the table behind him, and waited for Jun to look up again.

But Jun didn’t. He swiped a hand under his nose and said something under his breath.

Wonwoo frowned. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated almost as quietly, in a way that twisted in Wonwoo’s chest.

Before he could respond Hoshi appeared beside Mingyu, bringing a puff of smoke with him. “What’s wrong?” he asked Mingyu.

Wonwoo turned at the sound of Hoshi’s voice. He noted quickly that Hoshi was waiting for answers but Mingyu wasn’t even blinking, before he turned his attention back on Jun. Jun still refused to meet his eyes.

He wanted to say: _You idiot. I’ve never been afraid of you. You never have to apologize. Why do you let it get like this?_ But he knew why. Instead he said, “Hoshi, come here.”

Hoshi came forward and repeated with concern, “What’s going on?”

Wonwoo pulled Hoshi in front of Jun. “Stay with him,” he commanded. To himself, he added, “Better you right now than me.”

Hoshi didn’t question it. He sat down on the floor in front of the chair and after a moment of staring he rested his arms across Jun’s knees. Jun didn’t push him away.

Wonwoo stepped back and pulled Mingyu over by the door with him. “Not your best timing,” he commented under his breath though he knew it was pointless. The comment was not without affection. He kept one hand absently at Mingyu’s elbow and the other on the handle of the door as an anchor. It wouldn’t be long. Ever since Mingyu had figured out how to control it he’d been dropping into the past with increasing frequency. Wonwoo wasn’t particularly happy about it but he wasn’t going to stop him. He just wished he was more careful about it.

As he waited for the younger to come out of the state naturally he studied the hunch of Jun’s shoulders. He figured he’d started to pray again but Hoshi was chattering in a positive tone over whatever he might have been saying.

Jun looked small.

“I didn’t know.”

Startled back into focus, Wonwoo checked to be sure Mingyu was present again. Mingyu looked distraught but aware. Wonwoo let his hand slip off of the door handle but kept the loose grip on his elbow.

“I just thought…” Mingyu continued but trailed off.

“It was only me, Coups, and Jeonghan, then.” He gathered what it was that the younger had seen. If he’d followed the moment back through time there’s only one place he would have ended up. “It’s not something we discuss.” Chartes seemed like lifetimes ago but it was in the room with them still.

They both watched for a moment while Hoshi poked at Jun’s side, seemingly bored by the other’s lack of interaction.

“The church has done more than enough to make people fear and hate us,” Mingyu’s angry words sat heavily in the air, “but I guess that’s not enough. We’re supposed to hate ourselves, too.”

Wonwoo’s remembrance of things as they were formed a pinpoint of guilt in his throat until he felt compelled to explain, “He sought the church of his own free will.”

Mingyu turned sharply toward Wonwoo, his disbelief evident.

“He wanted to make penance for what he was. He wanted to stop feeling like a monster.” He stopped short of saying they were trying to help. They were, but it seemed hollow.

To his credit, Mingyu asked, “Did it work?”

Wonwoo paused. Hoshi had almost gotten a smile out of Jun and he wondered what the imp had said. It helped, he was sure, that Hoshi was not flesh and blood—was not a reminder of the hunger like he was.

“No amount of prayer or penance can change what he is.”

Considering his own words, Wonwoo then turned again to Mingyu. “Someone needs to go to the butchers. Tell him we’re making black pudding.”

The twinge of confusion stayed on Mingyu’s face for a moment before it broke into understanding. “Got it,” he said as Wonwoo pressed money into this hands.

“Quickly.”

Mingyu was already out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Joshua’s deep inhale was so loud in the silence of the library that it startled the pen out of S. Coup’s hand.  He twisted around in his chair to find that Joshua was staring up at the ceiling.

The way he had his head tilted alerted S. Coups that he should be listening.  Joshua’s mouth began to move, and S. Coups could just make out the words, “ _…be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.”_

S. Coups paled at the words.  “What?”

Joshua had the faintly disturbing impression of a smile clinging to him when he made a hushing sound and whispered, “Someone is praying.”

Even in the muted darkness that blanketed the back corners of the house, Joshua had a preternatural glow.  The eerie impression he made in that moment had S. Coups thinking for the hundredth time that he could understand why they’d found him sitting comfortably in an asylum a century ago.              

“Okay…anyone in particular?” he ventured.  Joshua was always hearing things.  Often it was nothing.

“Jun.”

This would have disturbed S. Coups plenty all on its own, but Joshua had continued reciting the words he alone could hear under his breath, “… _cast into Hell all the evil spirits who wander throughout the Earth seeking the ruin of souls…_ ”  The dim lights lining the wall flickered, and something within S. Coups growled and cringed.

He rose out of his chair and strode behind Joshua to grip his shoulder.  “I would not recommend reciting things like that in this house.”

Joshua’s face fell, and S. Coups wished he’d found a better way of saying it.  Maybe a way that didn’t sound like: _you aren’t like the rest of us._  He opened his mouth to fix what he’d done but Joshua beat him to it,

“We should go.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“We’re needed.”

It was one of many moments where S. Coups could not tell whether he was speaking to Joshua the boy or Joshua the descendant of angels. After so much time he still wasn’t sure where the distinction lay.

Even so, he stopped Joshua before he went another step. Making sure he had his full attention, he mumbled, “I really didn’t mean it like that.”

With an unreadable steadiness in his eyes, he responded, “I know.”

S. Coups nodded and dropped his hand.  He looked toward the door, wondering what kind of everyday disaster they had waiting for them on the other side.

“Alright…do you think we should—” When he turned back Joshua was already gone.  

. . .

S. Coups made it only a few steps through the house before he stumbled on Hoshi sitting in the corner of the dining room.

“Hoshi?” he questioned.

Hoshi was resting his chin on his knees, an extraordinary frown on his face. “Jun vanished me,” he complained.

Had he not heard Joshua mumbling Jun’s words a moment ago, he might not have understood.  Despite himself he couldn’t help but sound fascinated.  “He vanished you with a Catholic prayer?”

“It’s not funny.”

It was, in fact, a little bit funny.  S. Coups had never thought of prayers as spells before.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to do that,” S. Coups pacified.  Hoshi was one of the few people in the house Jun would be able to tolerate if he was in a praying kind of mood.  “We’re all still trying to figure stuff out.”  Even knowing each other for so many years it was hard to keep things grounded under one roof.

Throwing out his hands dramatically, Hoshi said, “I’m not an evil spirit, though.”

S. Coups tried to explain, “I’m sure it was an accident.  He probably feels guilty already.”  Truthfully, Jun felt guilty a majority of the time so it was a fair guess.

Hoshi tilted his head thoughtfully, his messy hair flopping as he did.  “What does guilt feel like?”

Being something he’d never had to consider before, it took S. Coups a moment to decide on an answer.  “I guess it feels like hunger.  Like a gnawing feeling.  You don’t feel better until you satisfy it.”

“Sounds pointless.”

S. Coups was so taken aback that he laughed.

Encouraged, Hoshi joked, “Jun must feel pretty guilty.  He’s starving right now.”

Hoshi did not realize what he had said, but the weight of it sobered S. Coups immediately.  He turned his head toward the kitchen.  He must have subconsciously reached out because Jeonghan’s voice touched back,

_The less of us here the better._

It was all Jeonghan had to say as he was silent after that, but S. Coups could read between the lines.  He sighed, went over to the wall beside Hoshi and sat down.

He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping Jeonghan could hear him if he thought, ‘I’m here if needed.’  Jeonghan never let on to how much he could or could not hear.  He trusted him to take care of things, though.  Jeonghan always seemed to know what to do.  He’d lived long enough, certainly.

The very act of closing his eyes almost had S. Coups nodding off when he suddenly felt crowded.  He popped open one eye and saw that Hoshi had moved right up close to his face.  

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

S. Coups figured that Hoshi would enjoy the concept of irony, but he didn’t feel up to explaining it at Jun’s expense. His guilt/hunger metaphor was a little too on the nose.  When Jun prayed for protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil he was praying against the darkness in himself.

Failing to get a response, Hoshi suddenly announced, “You know, I was bound once.”

S. Coups raised an eyebrow, wondering what Hoshi was getting at.  “To an object?” he clarified.

“A sword.”

Sensing he now had S. Coups’ full attention the imp continued, “It was ages and ages ago.  We were traveling so it was my job to bring good luck.  We went into the desert.  It seemed like an adventure at first but we just ended up killing a lot.”  Hoshi frowned thoughtfully.  “I did a good job.  We both came home but I don’t think I would want to do it again.  Is that guilt?”

S. Coups could see how hard Hoshi was trying to connect and how hard he was trying to understand.  But how could he understand when he could say something like _I was magically fused to an object_ so casually.  There was an unspoken divide between all of them at the house:  between those like him who had once been human and those like Hoshi who never had been.  He didn’t have the heart to ask him:   _Did you decide you didn’t want to go back because it wasn’t any fun?  Or because you didn’t want to take part in killing again?_ He already knew the answer anyway.

In the end, he lied, “Yeah.  That sounds like guilt.”

Hoshi perked up and S. Coups wished ruefully that it was always that easy. After so many years he still spent most of his time doing damage control.

He could almost catch Jeonghan in the back of his mind chiding him for the negative edge to his thought.  Reassessing, he glanced at Hoshi and softened at the eager expression on the other’s face. Honestly, it was a blessing that at least one of them was definitively uncomplicated.  All Hoshi wanted was to make them happy—sometimes cause a little mischief—but mostly make them happy.

He threw an arm casually over Hoshi’s shoulder and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing again. “You’re right about one thing, Hoshi.  You’re not an evil spirit.”

Hoshi hummed in agreement then asked, “Even if I broke your record machine thing?”

“ _What?”_


	3. Chapter 3

Mingyu stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his coat as he strolled up to the butcher’s stall. The day was overcast and puddles were left by the side of the road.  The village always had a feeling of being lost in time, but today especially it felt like the breeze had been sweeping up from decades ago.  He tried to seem unhurried as he stepped up to the side of the stall.

He cleared his throat lightly to grab the attention of the broad-shouldered man behind the counter.  

“Can I help you?” the man sounded a little skeptical. Whether that was due to the emptiness of the marketplace or something in Mingyu’s demeaner was unclear.  

Trying to muster the confidence to match his height, Mingyu gestured casually with a hand still in his pocket, “Looking to pick up some pig’s blood.”

Even as the words were leaving his mouth he wondered if he sounded mature enough—maybe his words were too forced or unnatural. “We’re making blood pudding,” he added as an afterthought, almost biting through his lip as the butcher continued to stare at him with the same expression on his face.  

After a long moment of silence, the butcher prompted. “How much do you want?”

This was when Mingyu realized he should have played dumb.  He didn’t know what measurements pigs blood came in.  He’d never questioned where they got it in the past.

“Uh—medium?” he tried uncertainly.  

The butcher’s skeptical expression had Mingyu shrinking inside his jacket.  He tried to avoid the man’s direct gaze.  He wasn’t good with this kind of thing.  He’d never been good at it.  Wonwoo should have sent someone else.  

“Are you a student?” the man asked suddenly.  

Feeling very much like he still was, Mingyu responded uncertainly, “No?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

He didn’t know how to answer so he just stood there with his mouth half open waiting for an answer to pop into his brain.

Leaning against the counter, the man rolled up his sleeves and said, “Listen, kid, I haven’t seen you here before and if I’m not a complete idiot, you’re not here because you want to make black pudding.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened against his will.  He flicked his gaze across the square and was reminded of how empty it was.  He wasn’t sure if that was going to be a good or a bad thing.  The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably.                  

The man sized him up for a moment, sighed, and reached under the counter, pulling up a small plastic bucket which, thankfully, had a cover.  “It comes in cups,” the man said shortly.  

Mingyu eyed the bucket uncertainly, feeling a little squeamish.  He wasn’t bothered by blood in general but something about knowing this man would have had to collect it made his stomach turn.  

“How much?” he asked stiffly, hoping to sound natural again.

The butcher’s hands gripped the counter as he bent forward and said in an entirely different tone, “Listen, kid, I was young once. If you’re buying this to pull some kind of prank I’m not selling it.”

With a wash of relief breaking across his face, Mingyu replied, “No!  No, no, it’s nothing like that.”  He tried not to grin so wide but he couldn’t help it in his relief.  Of course there was no way the man had figured out that Mingyu was hunting down blood for a vampire who lived with him and his other immortal friends in a house at the bottom of the hill. The lies came easily now that he understood the source of the man’s skepticism.   “My grandmother sent me but she didn’t tell me how much or anything.”  

The butcher didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he slid the bucket closer to him and said, “It’s 8.50.”  

As the butcher made change, Mingyu bounced on the balls of his feet, hoping he would hurry it along.  He needed to get back.  Each of them had their quirks to deal with but when Jun got into moods like this…

Personally, he liked being different.  Having magic was far better than being normal.  He wondered how many of the others would give it all up if they could.  

He was knocked from his thoughts by the man offering out a handful of change to him.  Mingyu looked down at his bare hand and hesitated, keeping his own hands in his pockets.  

“Um—you can keep the change,” he said in the end.

The butcher looked more peeved than maybe he should have as he returned the change to his cash drawer, meticulously separating the coins and dropping them into the drawer with a harsh pinging sound.

Mingyu watched for a bit and then reached uncertainly for the bucket on the counter.  He got a hold of the handle and was about to turn away when the man said suddenly, “Wait—”

The man reached out and grabbed Mingyu’s arm at the wrist and for a brief moment Mingyu saw white.  

A dozen and a half things hit him at once: images and sounds and memories that weren’t his—thoughts and wishes and things long past.  He froze.  Some part of him tried to pull his arm free but his world was tilting and off balance.

Then an arm hooked through his own and the hold on his wrist was broken.  He gasped in, his hand flying to his head, nearly collapsing on himself, but the shoulder pressed against his own held him up—reminded him that they were being watched by an ordinary man.

As the calm hum settled into his bones he realized that Joshua was there beside him.  The other’s slight build did not hide the strange power that stole over him as he sized up the butcher evenly.  

“Excuse us, sir, my friend has these episodes sometimes.”  

The butcher seemed interested in his words, almost overly focused.  Joshua had that effect on most people.

“In an absence seizure you can sometimes space out mid-sentence. They’re typically harmless, though. A lot of people grow out of them.”

The butcher nodded distantly.  Even in his dazed state Mingyu noticed that Joshua didn’t quite lie.  He never outright lied.  Mingyu didn’t have absence seizures, but Joshua had never said he did, either.

“Not a problem,” the butcher said airily.

Mingyu was still trying to recover his composure from the episode.  He shuddered lightly to shake off the lingering feeling of a whole life stuffed into his brain and tightened his elbow where Joshua had linked their arms.  

Joshua reached across subtly with his free hand and touched lightly at the sleeve of his jacket, but his eyes stayed on the butcher.  A small smile settled on his face.  “Thank you,” he said to the butcher with a slight nod of his head, “We’ll be going now.” Joshua started to guide him away back toward the road home but he planted his feet.  

“The bucket,” he said quietly.

Joshua turned back, saw the bucket on the counter and stepped away from his side to pick it up. “Have a nice day, sir,” Joshua told the man at the counter.

“You too, you too,” the butcher said pleasantly, then turned back to his work, whistling.  

As soon as they were out of earshot, Joshua asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answered as confidently as he could.  “I just hate what that happens.”

Joshua handed him the bucket, wiping his hand on his pants as soon as it was out of his hand.  “You shouldn’t go out alone like that.  None of us should.”

Mingyu understood the sentiment, but part of him wondered if it made sense that they should be afraid of mortal men.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure if this needs helpful warnings(?). I'll put some in the end notes if you want to be cautious.

Jeonghan intercepted them when they walked in the door. 

“Are you alright?” he asked shortly, his hands grabbing at Mingyu explorationally like he had to make sure he was in one piece.

“Yeah,” he answered, shying back in embarrassment, “I’m fine.”

Jeonghan dropped his arms back to his sides.  “I don’t know what Wonwoo was thinking sending you out alone.”

Mingyu half rolled his eyes in frustration and looked to Joshua for help but he didn’t receive anything in the way of sympathy.  He realized Joshua must have told Jeonghan about what happened in the square while they had walked back home. It gave him the heebie jeebies thinking about them talking to one another secretly like that while he was there.    

“How are things,” Joshua asked Jeonghan then, which clearly meant:  _how is he doing?_

“Well enough,” Jeonghan answered.  The way they both paused meant they shared a different answer between the two of them.

For a second the room felt out of balance, and Mingyu figured out why a moment later when he lifted his head and saw Woozi leaning against the wall where he hadn’t been visible before.  He had his arms folded over his chest and he gestured at the bucket Mingyu had forgotten he was holding. 

“You have any luck convincing him,” he asked evenly.  His question was for Jeonghan, who answered,

“It’s a work in progress.”

Woozi pushed off the wall and came over.  

Mingyu jerked back quickly when he realized what Woozi was doing and their hands almost brushed, but Woozi had made it a point to avoid coming into direct contact with him.  He had nothing to worry about on that front.

Now in possession of the bucket, Woozi asked, “He still in there?”

Jeonghan nodded, seeming to know what Woozi was going to do.  “Yes.  But be sympathetic, please.”

Woozi headed toward the storeroom door, “We’ll see about that.”

. . .

When Woozi marched into the room, Wonwoo spun toward him.  Jun, by contrast, didn’t lift his head from his hands.

“Woozi—”

Wonwoo didn’t get to finish as Woozi brushed by, practically slammed the bucket down on the table and dropped himself into the chair closest to Jun.  Jun looked up then, and Woozi stared him down.

“Stop being dramatic.  You need blood to live.  When you don’t have it you turn into an asshole.  The kind of asshole who could potentially turn his friends into vampires.”

Jun looked over at Wonwoo, like he was expecting some kind of explanation or rebuttal. 

It was odd to have that moment of familiarity and trust after the uphill battle he had just gone through.  He knew that Jun was avoiding him with good reason, but it didn’t make it easier.    

“Don’t look for him to help you,” Woozi chided, “You don’t get to make the rest of us miserable because you're being stubborn.” As a final note Woozi added, “And it’s pigs blood, so basically you’re having a hot dog, not cannibalistically consuming human tomato juice.”

“That’s disgusting.”

It was the first thing Jun had said to any of them in a half hour or more.

Woozi did not try to keep the pleased look from his face. “I know,” his tone was kinder and less aggressive than before, “But I saw Mingyu eat a grape he picked up from the floor once after it had rolled under the refrigerator.”

Jun huffed a ghost of a laugh into the air.  It made his eyes look watery and Woozi, watching, continued, “Are you going to be able to do this on your own?”

With an expression that was terribly self-aware, Jun slightly shook his head:  no.

“Hey Wonwoo,” Woozi began, twisting around in his chair.  His eyes were steady, the message clear as he said, “You care to join us this fine afternoon?”

“Yeah,” he said gently, “I’ll go get some glasses.”

When Wonwoo exited into the kitchen, blinking back the brightness, he was glad to find it was empty.  He knew Jeonghan had been waiting to intercept Mingyu when he arrived.  He suspected the older had herded the others out of the room.  He’d be glad of the privacy.

He set about his work, taking three glasses down from the top of the fridge, wiping off the dust carefully.  He spent a long time rinsing them in the sink, letting the water run longer than he needed to.  When the outsides of the glasses were dry, he refilled his and Woozi’s glasses halfway with water.  He shuffled the water between the two glasses for a while until it looked even, then he grabbed a tin of saltines, tucked it under his arm, picked up the three glasses carefully and returned to the storeroom.    

He noted that the bucket on the table had been opened already.  Jun was just as shaky as before but now it was with an energy that made his hands restless and his foot tap. 

Wonwoo kept his focus on not spilling the glasses as he placed them on the table, then took the saltine tin and passed it to Woozi.  He set himself to the task of pouring from the bucket to the glasses.  It made his stomach turn just a bit but in the dim light of the storeroom he could pretend it wasn’t what it was.

Jun’s gaze kept flicking over at the progress.  There was a conflicted distress sitting right behind his eyes like he was already thinking about how it wouldn’t settle and how much he needed it and hated it.

Wonwoo would have reached across the table if he could and squeezed his arm in reassurance.  Instead he said softly across the space, “When’s the last time we did this?” letting just a hint of a smile settle on his face. 

“January,” Woozi said without hesitation, reaching out to take his glass. 

Jun’s shoulders untensed slightly and he accepted the glass Wonwoo slid to him after he settled into his chair.

“Cheers,” Woozi said with irony.  They all moved the glasses to their mouths.  Jun’s hand shook. Woozi pressed the cup to his lips and waited, looking over the top of the glass. 

Wonwoo, for his part, took a sip, then put his glass back down, trying not to shudder at the faintly familiar but ultimately disconcerting taste.

Across the table, Jun had his head and the cup tipping further and further back.

Monitoring closely, Woozi put his glass down and stood.  He moved over beside Jun and put one hand at the back of his neck gently and the other at his wrist, pulling down slightly.  “Okay, okay,” he coached quietly, “Take a second to breathe.  Don’t overdo it.”

Jun let Woozi pull the cup away from his mouth.  He dropped his head low, shoulders rising and falling noticeably.  He didn’t seem to know that he had a handful of Woozi’s sweater gripped in his hand.

Woozi ruffled at the hair at the back of his head fondly.  “Don’t you throw this up, Jun, we spent real money on this.”

“You didn’t drink any,” Jun breathed, and the highness of his tone showed he was joking.

Woozi met Wonwoo’s eyes across the table and grinned.  Wonwoo returned it to the best of his ability. 

“That’s because it tastes like shit,” Woozi answered, his hand still forgetfully at the back of Jun’s neck.

Wonwoo tried to recall what year it had been when they first did this.  Sometime after London.  There were years, whole decades even, when Jun was fine.  But it always circled back to this.  Taking part in it hadn’t been his idea or Woozi’s idea in particular, but it had been an understanding that developed consecutively and without words:  if they were going to expect Jun to do this, it was only fair that once in a while they do it with him.

Jun was fixated on his glass like his thoughts had fallen inside of it.  He was still unnaturally pale.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Wonwoo cautioned.

Jun flicked his eyes up at him.  He was gulping down air in a way that suggested he might really be sick.  Wonwoo couldn’t blame him.  He and Woozi weren’t built for this the way Jun was, but it made Jun sick for different reasons.  He tried to make the argument, “People make food with this.  It’s not wrong to—” he cut himself off because he knew the argument was having no effect.  He couldn’t undo what had grown in tangled knots inside of Jun for centuries.

“This is the exact reason they invented soda crackers,” Woozi carried on for him, holding one between his fingers the way someone might hold a playing card.  He had sat down again and had gone through the process of opening the tin and the wax paper sleeve without notice. 

“I don’t think that’s why,” Jun said weakly back with all attempts at humor.

“What do you know,” Woozi countered, “it’s not like you were there.”  It was a joke they had rehashed and overdone between the three of them for ages and it righted the tilting room, stabilizing the air, making it easier to breathe.  

Sometimes Wonwoo was enough.  Sometimes he wasn’t and he was thankful that Woozi was there. 

Between the two of them, a generous amount of faked drinking, and a sleeve of saltines they got him through enough so that by the time Jeonghan stepped into the room again, Jun seemed tired but not on edge.

Jeonghan shot Wonwoo a private look.  His voice snuck quickly into the back of his mind:  _I parked Mingyu and Joshua with S. Coups so there’s no rush._ Wonwoo imagined S. Coups would have tried to be there too if Jeonghan hadn’t, as he expected, told him off.

Wonwoo answered, _We’re done, anyway._

Without further instruction, Jeonghan took care to tap Jun on the shoulder and lead him from the room.  There were days where Jeonghan was enough.  To some extent it took all of them.  Jun was too exhausted to make any complaints but Wonwoo expected he might avoid them for a while.  He wouldn’t take offense.  It was just the way things were. 

He and Woozi stayed behind to clean things up and the minutes were consumed in a silence that they both welcomed.  It was getting dark out by the time they made their way out and down the hall toward their separate rooms.  Wonwoo was the first to break the silence when it was obvious no one else was around to overhear.

“I thought after so many years he’d be able to come to terms with it.”

“That’s because you don’t get it.”

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Woozi said resolutely, folding his arms.  “You still blame it on Chartes when it has nothing to do with that.”

Growing steadily annoyed, Wonwoo countered, “Jun refusing to eat and breaking down into fits of prayer has nothing to do with Chartes?”

Woozi rolled his eyes.  “Not really.”

The earlier tension was easing back into the room.  Woozi seemed to have a talent for that.

“You didn’t see what that place did to him, Woozi.”

“Did you ask yourself why he was there in the first place?”  

Wonwoo supposed Woozi was waiting for him to press him for more information but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Woozi couldn’t pretend to have the answers Wonwoo didn’t.  Wonwoo had helped pull Jun up from the shadow of the statue of Mary.  Woozi hadn’t joined them for another century.  Wonwoo had been reading through page after page of spell books and potions looking for answers while Woozi was still in the forest with the fair folk.  

As it were, Woozi continued without prompting, “People like you and Hoshi and Jeonghan, you can’t understand.  This is natural to you.  You don’t have any reason to despise it.  But those of us who _weren’t_ born like this?  You never think about that, do you?  This is something that _happened_ to us.  But, yeah, you know, Coups and I can come to terms with it on some level.  Faeries steal children.  Wolves attack things.  They can’t help it.  But Jun?  Someone _did this_ to him.  Someone who could help it.”

Wonwoo couldn’t respond.  The words sat heavily over him.

“See?” Woozi said, catching the look in his eyes, “You don’t get it because you’ve never had to.  You’ve always been what you are.”

“Do you know?”

“Know what?”

“How it happened?”

Woozi frowned like he was trying to figure out the purpose behind Wonwoo’s question.  When he found nothing hostile, he answered, “I don’t.  But you know who definitely knows?”

Wonwoo shook his head.

“Jun.”

Raising his eyebrows to make sure Wonwoo got the point, Woozi turned and left him standing there in the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (From the top) Just a warning that there is direct but not descriptive reference to actually drinking blood in this chapter. I feel like it's not gross or insensitive, but just a heads up. Also this feels super weird to say but I don't know if someone with an eating disorder could be bothered by this??? I didn't write it that way intentionally but as I was re-reading it just now I began to wonder if it could be an issue so I'll add that warning here, too. 
> 
>  
> 
> End note: I didn't plan this scene to happen. The whole of chapter four just kind of didn't exist except for the final conversation until the moment I was writing it. I usually plan a lot more so I'm just going to post it and not look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (see end notes for additional warnings)

It was past midnight, and Joshua was standing just inside of his room with no sign of sleep in his eyes despite the late hour. Wonwoo, by contrast, was still trying to blink himself into wakefulness. He couldn’t recall if Joshua had already spoken or if he’d been woken up by the inkling that someone was watching him.

“He’s praying again.”

Wonwoo had suspected that was what brought Joshua to his doorway so late at night. Joshua was much more apt to seek out Jeonghan or Seungcheol if he was experiencing peculiarities of his own, but this was about Jun.

“I hope it didn’t keep you up,” Wonwoo murmured, flipping out from the covers, his feet touching the floor.

Joshua shrugged with his hands still tucked against his sides. “I don’t know if I need to sleep tonight anyway.”

It was a strange answer, but Wonwoo supposed that Joshua had a hard time putting anything he experienced into words. “I can give you something for that if you’d like.” He knew Joshua would say no but it felt polite to offer.

Joshua predictably shook his head. “No, thank you. Should we go get him?”

Wonwoo’s mouth dipped into a frown as he thought it over. He pictured the three of them sitting in the dark wherever they happened to find Jun. It would be quiet. Part of him yearned for the potential serenity of the moment but he feared at the same time the wordlessness of it. He feared what the continued silence would do to Jun.

“I think I should go alone tonight.”

“Be careful with him,” Joshua responded with deeply sympathetic eyes.

The gentle warning unsettled Wonwoo, like Joshua knew something he didn’t.

“Of course.”

Joshua floated away then, his feet soundless on the floor.

When he was alone, Wonwoo dropped his head. He stayed in the silence, listening to the hum of the night for a long while. Then, when he couldn’t hesitate any longer, he pulled his bathrobe on over his pajamas and stepped out into the hallway.

There were a multitude of possibilities for where he might find Jun. Now that the days were growing warmer there was no guarantee he would even have stayed in the house.

He poked his head into the living room as he passed but the window-seat was empty, the moonlight coming in cold onto the hardwood floor.

He continued on, and a sinking feeling settled over him when he saw that the light was on in the bathroom. Before he even turned the corner he could see it glowing on the walls. The hallway seemed longer than normal as he walked up to the door. He knocked on the off chance that he was wrong.

There was no answer. He pushed in the door.

Jun was sitting on the floor, his body pressed into the far corner of the room, hands twisted into his hair.

Wonwoo wished this was a rare sight. He crossed the room and squeezed himself into the narrow space left between Jun and the toilet.

Reaching out, he cupped his palms against Jun’s neck and lifted up his head. Jun’s skin was fire, his eyes glazed—fear infecting him like a fever. It was a familiar, half-waking look that followed a nightmare. Wonwoo pressed softly, “Did you throw up?”

Jun shook his head like it was too heavy—like he was exhausted. His eyes were rimmed in red. His hands dropped down to pull at Wonwoo’s wrists. “I can’t. . .”

Wonwoo tried to tell him that it was okay, but Jun continued desperately, “I don’t want to be like him.”

It took a moment for the words to register.

“Who are you talking about?”

“I hated him,” Jun whispered like he was afraid to say it louder, “I still hate him.”

Acid burnt in Wonwoo’s throat. He wanted to say something but his earlier conversation with Woozi spun through his mind and he came up mute.

Jun had never spoken like this to him--to any of them as far as he knew. He was accustomed to coaxing Jun down from nightmares he never explained, but tonight something had cracked open and he was spilling secrets into the air.

“I don’t know why it was me,” Jun’s words hiccuped out of him. He wasn't crying but he teetered at the edge of it. “He never said why.”

“Jun, you’re burning up,” Wonwoo interrupted quietly before Jun could say more, his hand brushing over Jun’s hair. He seemed so lost. He wondered if he even knew what he was saying or whether he’d regret it.

Jun moved back from Wonwoo like he was too close—like it was too hot. “There was no reason to turn me,” his voice slid off the wall, his eyes closed now.

Wonwoo could feel his pulse racing uncomfortably. He stretched up to the hand towel and pulled it off the wall, needing to do something with his hands to keep them from shaking. All the while he heard Jun continue hollowly over his shoulder,

“I think he got bored.”

Wonwoo wasn’t processing the words. He felt empty as he turned on the sink and let the water run over the towel. He told himself his muscles felt weak because of the odd way he had twisted up to the sink.

"No one questions one person going missing,” Jun continued unsteadily, “If you don't slip up one person can last you a long time. It's low risk. I don't know why he turned me. He could have just killed me."

Turning off the water, Wonwoo scooted back only as close as he had to. Jun wouldn’t look him in the eyes but Wonwoo wordlessly pressed the cloth to his face, trying to cool him down. He tried not to show how hard he was biting onto his tongue.

“But I couldn't leave," as Jun spoke his lungs hitched, “Even when I had a choice I didn't leave. I should have. I don't know why I didn't."

“Don’t think like that,” Wonwoo insisted, still patting at Jun’s face with the damp cloth, occupying himself with the task so he didn't have to fully face what the other was saying.

“I don’t want to be him.”

“You aren’t.” He said it automatically, knowing it was true. Jun once stopped to mix sugar into water for a bee he found lethargic on the stone wall. The person who hurt him was a monster.

“I catch myself doing things he did. I think like him. He made me like him.”

Wonwoo’s hand faltered. He knew it so clearly now like he’d always known it. He knew why Jun hated every part of himself that craved blood, that was persuasive, that was controlling. He knew why Jun couldn’t stomach the idea of glamoring mortals. Why he thought he needed forgiveness. Jun had been made into the very thing that hurt him.

Jun was the monster under his own bed.

He placed the towel on the floor next to him. Then he gripped the other by the shoulders, terrified by how thin and fragile he seemed. “Jun,” he started resolutely, waiting until he turned back to him. When Jun’s red-rimmed eyes clung reluctantly to him again, he continued, “I have never once been afraid of you. You would never hurt me. You would never hurt them. You are good.”

“I tried to leave, Wonwoo.” His voice cracked. “I really tried.”

Wonwoo pulled him in and Jun collapsed into his shoulder. Wonwoo held onto him as he shook and fell apart. “I know. I know that. It wasn’t your fault.”

The sound of Jun’s sobbing was painful and foreign and wrong.

The story was in puzzle pieces but Wonwoo didn’t need to put it together. The gaps didn't matter. Knowing what happened to Jun didn’t matter. What mattered was Jun knowing he wasn't the darkness that haunted him. What mattered was that he knew he didn't need forgiveness for existing.

For once, Wonwoo thought there was a chance Jun knew that, too, because he didn’t pull away. He didn’t apologize or ask for forgiveness. He didn’t even pray. He let Wonwoo tell him it would be okay and whether he fully believed it yet or not, he didn’t try to hide. He stayed, and he let Wonwoo hold him together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *additional warnings from the top notes* Jun is in a really vulnerable place here and he makes disjointed references to the some circumstances surrounding his being turned which was pretty traumatic for him. Nothing is explicit, but if you are easily bothered by implications I'd steer clear. 
> 
> A/N: I have had this chapter half written for 3 months but I think it's done finally. Sorry about long delays.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my really broad, completely under-developed au that has no linear story-line and no real end point. Just moments of half told stories. Feel free to explore/request more through kayeblaise.tumblr.com/immortalstags Questions/Comments welcome.


End file.
